


though thither doomed

by Annimel



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Centered mostly around Greed, Devils Nest, Gen, Modern AU, Modern AU where the good guys all live, More tags when more characters/relationships happen, There’s background relationships but nothing super centered, after that it lightens up a lil, and all the Devil’s Nest characters, but the first chapter’s got some background and thats where all the serious stuff happens, lowkey lust/greed but not really, spoilers i guess if you haven’t finished the show/manga?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 22:04:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13040376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annimel/pseuds/Annimel
Summary: Who would not, finding way, break loose from Hell,Though thither doomed? Thou wouldst thyself, no doubt,And boldly venture to whatever placeFarthest from pain, where thou mightst hope to change-Milton, Paradise Lost





	though thither doomed

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be some drabbles that go along with our tumblr, [https://fmarpgaugreedling.tumblr.com](url) Check it out for a lot of cool art, short fics, headcanons, and text posts surrounding the whole cast of fma in a modern setting. 
> 
> This particular fic is mostly about Greed, his past as a Homunculus, and then some lighter stuff about moving on and becoming a better, happier person, along with some of everyone’s favorite Devil’s Nest crew and assorted cast. There’s some dark things, but if you got through the actual fma story you’ll be totally fine!

Shihong Yao had the world laid out before her. Money, power, beauty, status - options. She could have done nothing but act the socialite her whole life. She could marry and live well. And she was smart - business, finances, numbers came easily to her. She could have ruled the world. Well. She could have become the head of her family’s company, and that was basically the same thing.

But she didn’t. Shihong could have had anything, she could have done anything.

There was an anger in her, though - some deep-seated, roiling thing that made others wary of her. She was bored, she was angry, and she was rebellious. Why, against what, no one knew. 

But the beautiful heiress ran to Germany and married some poor, cruel man, sent a stained postcard to her father that only said ‘fuck you’, and passed out of sight. Her brother inherited the company, people tutted over the crazy Yao girl, and that was that, till lawyers informed Qin Shi Yao that his sister had died of heroin overdose.

She left behind a son.

—-

Gier couldn’t legally take the Yao name. Shihong had given it up when she’d married, and while Gier never knew his mother well, he knew of the Yaos. He knew that they’d never have taken Shihong back, let alone her ratty child. 

He could never be a Yao, but he didn’t want to carry his father’s name. Gier’s name was a weight they’d strapped to his back - even his given one was awful. ‘Gier’. The hell was that?

“You’re leaving?” Emmet asked, eyes huge. “Where?”

Gier looked down at his kid cousin, who at ten was a lanky thing with awkward joints. He fought to keep the annoyed expression from his face. 

“America,” Gier said shortly. 

Emmet’s nose wrinkled. “You can’t just go,” he cried, his whiny voice rising. “Not without me!”

“I can and I am. You’re lucky I’m even telling you, I could have just left.” He could have, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t. Emmet was loud, entitled, and grating. Sure, he was scrappy and could hold his own in most fights - he wouldn’t have survived the family this long otherwise - but as soon as he lost, he melted into a sniveling mess. The kid’s constant arrogant expression certainly didn’t help matters.

But… Emmet was still just a kid, and Gier felt a faint flash of guilt for ditching him here.

Not enough to take him with, though. 

“But you can’t go to America and leave me behind! It’s not fair you get to go and I don’t!” Emmet stood up, planting his fists on his skinny hips.

Gier, not quite an adult just yet, but still far more muscular and intimidating, stared him down. 

Emmet shrunk. “Fine. Go. S’not like you give a shit about me anyway.”

“Now you’re catching on.” Gier took one last look around his room, then shook his head. Somehow he’d gathered a rather stunning amount of shit - most of it worthless, but he hated to leave it all behind. Not that he could bring it, obviously. 

“Why are you leaving, anyway?” Emmet said, pouting. “All the way to America? What do you want?”

“What do you think, midget?” Gier laughed at Emmet as he turned to leave. He wasn't planning on ever coming back. “Power, booze, money, women, the usual.” He waved as he marched out. He'd be long gone before his father even stepped foot inside the house. 

\---

He got part of his dream, at least. A bartender in a shitty, shitty club, surrounded by scantily clad women, the heavy scents of sex and sweat and cigarette smoke, bottles of cheap tequila and glasses of terrible whiskey and unnaturally colored shots. There was someone different in his bed every night. He knew all the names, faces, secrets. He came out on top in every single fight he ran into, whether it be physical or subterfuge. Gier heard things, saw things.

And he wasn't content. He could feel it, deep down - coursing through his veins, hissing - some need, some desire, muted by vodka and soft bodies and loud music, but still there. 

He wanted something. Obviously, sex and booze wasn't enough. He needed more. 

So when a soft spoken man with blank eyes sat down at the bar one night, Gier listened.

\--

Greed.

The new name rolled off his tongue with a satisfying cadence. Greed. 

Even with only three of the Homunculi (dumb name, but Greed supposed that secret gang-like societies of criminal mercenaries had to have edgy names) gathered, the theme was clear. The man with the eyepatch and faint smile looked like he should be some dashing but rugged older man in a black and white film. Greed knew him from the papers, television - Bradley, a prominent and well-liked politician. Wrath.

Next to him was the most attractive woman Greed had ever seen in his life. Her skin was cream and roses, flawless. Dark chocolate hair, hinted scarlet flashes in light, fell in smooth, voluptuous curls down over bare shoulders. Crimson lips smiled easily but with shivering warning, matching the red dress that embraced her perfect hourglass figure. Lust. 

And there was Father, as he'd introduced himself. Just Father. It rankled Greed a little, he hated that word, but he was willing to bear the discomfort for the rewards the man promised. 

Greed wanted. Father promised to give. 

\---

He learned later that Pride was before him, but Greed didn't meet him for a while. Next came Gluttony, and if ever a name was more apt…

Gluttony was huge. Even sitting still, his breathing made his whole body quiver. A jarringly sweet face watched Lust carefully, and a slow and startlingly high voice spoke up. 

“Do I get to eat her?”

“No, Gluttony,” Father answered nonchalantly. “Not these ones.”

“Aw,” Gluttony sighed, the dejected tone and face reminiscent of a toddler. “Darn.”

Greed eyed the newcomer with apprehension, but Lust smiled. 

“What are you planning?” Greed asked her warily. 

“Do you really think I’m going to answer that question?” she replied, arching a perfect eyebrow. He groaned.

“Lust, he wanted to eat you. That’s a little concerning.”

Lust only hummed in response, watching Father continue to talk with Gluttony. Greed didn’t recognize whatever emotion was in her eyes.

Lust was like that. Greed knew her better than most, at this point, but he’d stake his life that no one really knew her. The two of them didn’t always work together on assignments, but there was something similar about the two of them that resonated. Greed wanted things, desperately and furiously. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted, so he wanted everything. Lust just… desired. It was a different kind of want, but it had the same burning. 

She wouldn’t tell him what she was getting out of this deal, of course. For some, it was clear. Wrath wanted political power. Gluttony...probably just wanted to eat people, ew. Greed wanted everything. But Lust? Greed was pretty sure it wasn’t sex, whatever her name implied. (Not that she wasn’t getting it, clearly, and Greed had ended up in her bed a few times.) But she wanted...something else.

Right now, whatever she wanted had something to do with the weird-ass fat guy across the room.

That was a little odd, but whatever.

—-

See, the thing was, Greed was really fucking charming. Tall, dark, and handsome, with sharp eyes and a sharper grin. 

It made him good at his job, yeah, but it also made getting whatever he wanted really, really easy. 

And when he couldn’t charm his way to his goal, his more-than-impressive biceps did the trick.

—-

Sloth was the next one Greed met. He was huge, too - nearly as big as Gluttony, but there any similarities ended. Sloth was one big muscle mass, slow, a tired bass that slipped echoingly through a room on the rare occasions he did speak.

That was as far as Greed cared to know him, though. Sloth was dull, what amounted to a mercenary paid in bed and breakfast. Greed had more important things to worry about.

Mainly, his next assignment… though he was starting to hate thinking about those, too. Greed was under no delusions that he was a good man. Never had been, never cared enough to be. But something about what he was doing made him… uncomfortable, when he thought too hard about it. 

So he didn’t think about that, either. 

——

Pride was what started to actually tip him over the edge, though. Greed had been kept on a need-to-know basis - the whole damn operation was on a need-to-fucking-know basis, and only Father needed to know everything. Which had been fine with Greed thus far, really, because he was quite sure there was plenty of shit going on that he very much did not want to know. 

Pride was one of those things that Greed wished he hadn’t learned.

The Homunculi were rarely all gathered together. There was no need; unless they were given a group assignment (and lately, only Lust and Gluttony regularly worked together), they had no reason to be near each other. Made sense, too - if one was compromised, couldn’t have people associating them with each other.

Not that compromisation was likely. Father was scarily good at the whole secrecy thing. Even their code names were a fairly well-kept secret from those they did ‘business’ with. 

But apparently there was need of all of them, and when Father called you came. No questions, no hesitation. 

So there was Sloth, grudgingly on time, probably asleep standing up. There was Gluttony, chowing down on his seemingly endless supply of food, and Lust next to him, lounging idly on a sofa. Greed himself was perched on the sofa, tapping away at his phone. Lust shot him an indulgently amused glance when she saw the newest mind-numbing game he was playing.

Father sat at a chair (a chair that was just a little decoration from being a throne, somehow impressive and far from tacky) (Greed very suddenly wanted a throne. He’d make his tacky as hell) reading some thick book. 

Greed twitched a little. Where was Wrath? Bradley was always the first to arrive. The man seemed the most devoted to Father of all of them, sometimes, and though it was only a minute or two past the given time, the situation was unusual.

And then Wrath did walk in, and Greed felt dread creep up his shoulders. 

“Is it bring your kid to work day?” he asked, carefully keeping his tone idle and slightly contemptuous. “And here I forgot my little tyke. Damn.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Father said, his voice cool as always. “You haven’t yet met Pride. Pride, this is Greed. Say hello.”

“Hello, Greed,” said Selim Bradley, and Greed shivered like someone walked over his grave.

Of course he knew Selim. Anyone who knew Bradley knew his son, the bright, vivacious little boy who was a sweet presence in Bradley’s life. The man talked about his son often. The little kid was a humanizing element for the commanding politician. 

Selim had recently been on television, reading a poem he’d written about his father.

Looking at him now, at Pride now, Greed felt sick. Pride smiled brightly up at him, the same sunny little grin that charmed the press so well. But now that he was up close, looking, he could see the eerie calculating coldness in those big big eyes. 

Greed wanted a lot of things. He wasn’t sure this was one of them.

—-

“Is this what you want?” His voice was unusually soft in the quiet hour. The dead hour, too early to wake up and too late to be awake. 

“A little vague,” Lust replied, smoke curling from her mouth. Hotel rules said no smoking inside, but that was formality only. At least for Lust. “The sex? The whiskey? The hotel?”

“You know what I mean,” Greed said, crossly. He didn’t meet her searching eyes, instead staring into the liquid amber of his glass. 

Lust sighed. Everything she did was seductive, smooth, languid. He’d seen her gut men, and he’d seen the blissed-out looks in their eyes as they died. “You’re the one who wants, Greed.”

“Don’t give me Father’s bull, Lust. They’re just codenames.” He tipped back the heavy glass. The burn of alcohol was cool down his throat.

“Are they?” She stretched, feline, and he rolled his eyes. 

“Point,” he conceded. “Fine. Is this what you desire, Lust?” He made sure that word dripped with sarcasm, and was rewarded with a light laugh.

“Do you really think I’m going to answer that question?” She liberated the tumbler from his hands and finished off the whiskey, long nails clinking on the glass, before standing. “Watch yourself, Greed. If you’re having second thoughts, best not to let Father know.” 

Greed watched her dress. Maybe he ought to worry. Lust could very well go to Father and snitch.

Funny. One thing he could always trust was that he couldn’t trust her. There was a companionship there - somehow it was relieving, knowing that.

“Pride really shook you, didn’t he?” she asked quietly, suddenly, holding her coat, and Greed nearly dropped the glass he was refilling. 

“Didn’t it shake you?” Greed set down the tumbler, looked at it, then took as swig straight from the bottle. Sacrilege, really - he was a lot of things, and a good bartender was one of them. This was the good shit. Meant to be drunk slowly, enjoyed. He took another swig. “Fuck, Lust, I know we aren’t the good guys. We ain’t even close. But this?”

Lust stood still, for a moment, looking at her fine coat. When she spoke, it was in another language - Russian, Greed was fairly certain. She turned a little to see him, and rolled her eyes when she saw his confused expression.

“‘And there is a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there,’” she said, a wry twist to her mouth. 

“And what the hell does that mean?”

“Do you really think I’m going to answer that question?” She slipped on her coat. “See you around, Greed.”

“Say hey to Gluttony for me,” Greed said, and turned away as the door closed.

—-

Envy was the last, the seventh sin, and for a few moments Greed through he should have been Wrath. Because Envy was a teenager, pale and lean, with arrogant eyes and skinny hips. 

“Emmet,” Greed said, careful and slow, “what in all nine levels of fuck are you doing here?”

“My name’s Envy now, dickweed,” Gier’s cousin answered haughtily.

Father chuckled, the lack of humor in the sound falling eerily as usual. “I heard of a young man searching for you, Greed, using your old name. It made me curious.” Father looked Emmet up and down, and Greed felt the roiling possessiveness rise up in him, choke him. Greed didn’t like Emmet. Never had, probably never would. But Emmet was his cousin. Greed’s. Greed had allowed Father his own self, but he’d never given up Emmet. 

“I got bored at home, Greed,” Envy said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was still a skinny little shit, but Greed noted with a sick feeling that the kid had grown up fairly attractive. Envy obviously knew it, the way he dressed. 

“This isn’t a game, Em- Envy.” You didn’t use real names. Not when Father had given you a new one. Greed wasn’t usually afraid to mouth off a little to Father - but he knew Father was watching him. Those blank eyes burned into his side. This was a test, and Greed didn’t trust his own voice.

“Sure it is!” Envy laughed, a grating noise. “I’m good at what I do, and everyone else sucks! Might as well take advantage of that, y’know? God, I can’t believe you got here first. It’s not fair!”

Where was Lust’s sun now?

“Fuck off, kid. Don’t get in my way,” Greed said coldly, and Envy bristled. “Can I go now, Father? I got shit to get done and this midget’s getting on my nerves.”

Father watched him for another minute, then nodded, a faint smile on his lips. 

Greed walked leisurely out of there. He stopped by a liquor store on the way home, grabbed random bottles off the shelves, and drank till he couldn’t remember his own name.

—-

‘It all happened so fast’. What a fucking cheesy phrase. Overused. Always about some bland character falling in love, or some wimpy idiot crying about getting mugged, or whatever. 

But it did all happen so fast. 

Sloth was dead - Greed didn’t know the details, but it had been a warning. 

Enough.

Father had been angry, then. Greed had never seen him angry. 

Then it was Gluttony, and Greed had to find out about that one on the news. It made the front page of the New York Times. ‘Cannibal found Dead in Home, Human Remains of Over Twenty People in Freezer’. 

He called Lust. She didn’t answer immediately, but called back about an hour later. They got drinks, and waited for Father to beckon.

—-

“Who the fuck is it?” Greed demanded. Wrath might have reprimanded Greed for that, but Wrath wasn’t there. Pride’s arms were crossed, and any trace of sunny innocence was long gone. Greed felt uncomfortable even being close to the kid. Lust sat, her lips red as always, her expression unchanged. Envy twitched and paced, a ball of nervous energy. “Who the fuck even knows about us? I’m not too hot on the idea of getting murdered!”

“Poetic justice,” Lust inserted, and he shot her a pissed-off and slightly betrayed look. She shrugged smoothly.

“This isn’t what I wanted, Father,” Greed hissed. “This isn’t what you promised me.”

“Sloth and Gluttony were clearly too incompetent to stop him,” Father said icily. “Wrath will do the job, and that will be the end of it.”

“Or not,” Pride said suddenly, the boy’s high soprano cutting through Father’s words. He pointed with a small finger, and the door opened. 

A man stood there, identical to Father down to the shape of the beard. He was dressed sharply, neatly, almost like a college professor. They had the same face, but there was no mistaking this man for Father. 

He threw down something, and it clattered to a stop in front of Father’s chair. Bradley’s sword - well, half of it. The blade was broken, the hilt bloodstained.

“Please, brother,” the man said, softly, some deep emotion in his voice. “Don’t make me do this.”

Father stood. “You’ve made your choice, Van Hohenheim.”

It felt like some dramatic movie, unreal, staged. Greed moved, but Lust caught his sleeve. When he turned to her, she shook her head. 

“Don’t, Greed.” 

“Lust, what-“

“Father isn’t going to win this one,” she said, eyes dark. “Do you want to die here?”

“How do you- I-“ He was still gaping like a fish when Pride ran at the man - Hohenheim. The boy was quick, terrifyingly quick, and Greed knew damn well what the kid could do. He had nightmares about it still.

Hohenheim turned his sad eyes to Pride and shot him. Greed didn’t even see him pull the gun. Pride gasped, quick, a tiny little sound, and collapsed. Greed couldn’t see blood.

“Tranq,” Lust said, still sitting.

Pride was so small, on the cold floor.

Then Father attacked, and Greed stood frozen for a few moments. Father didn’t fight. It was below him. Or so Greed had thought - but watching these two men was terrifying. Distorted reflections, almost graceful, but -

\- “oh god oh god,” Envy whispered, and Greed turned to see his cousin shaking. 

“Emmet,” Greed snapped, and Envy jumped. “Get out of here.”

“We have to help him! We-“ 

“Emmet, leave,” Greed ordered, and marched over. 

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Envy screamed, voice getting higher and higher. “You can’t take this from me! You don’t get to-“ Greed punched him, square in the jaw, and it was extremely satisfying. Emmet stumbled, falling on his ass. 

“Get the fuck out of here, kid, Jesus Christ,” Greed growled. Emmet whimpered, and ran. 

“What about you?” Lust asked, suddenly next to him again, calm, as if there weren’t two men fighting for their lives - or more - fifteen feet away.

Greed suddenly felt exhausted. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “I never did. I probably never will. Whatever. But I’ve given years of my life for this shit. I want to see how it ends, at least.” 

Lust nodded, and Greed frowned. “What about you?” His voice was rough, tired. “Why are you staying? Why the hell are you here, Lust?”

Hohenheim knocked Father to the ground. Father got up again, of course, but he was slower, clumsier, angrier. 

“Do you really think I’m going to answer that?” she asked. 

“I punched Emmet,” Greed scowled, “I can punch you too.”

“No you can’t,” she replied, and Father let out one furious scream, and charged one last time. 

Hohenheim pulled out a knife. Father ran right into it, and that was the end of that.

Greed couldn’t hear what they said to each other. It was probably deep and meaningful and depressing, and probably explained a lot about what the hell Greed had gotten himself into, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

After a moment, Hohenheim left the body of his brother and walked, shoes loud against the cement floor, to Lust and Greed. He clutched his left side as he did, limping a little.

“Are you going to try and kill me?” Lust asked him, raising a single eyebrow.

“I- no, I’d rather not,” Hohenheim said, startled. 

Lust searched his face, nodded, then turned. “See you around, Greed,” she called, lifting a parting hand as she walked away.

“Y-you’re just gonna let her go?” Greed asked, stunned. “I, but-“

“Should I kill her?” Hohenheim frowned a little, his expression a little doleful. It pissed Greed off.

“Well, fuck yeah! You’re the good guy, right? You killed Wrath and Gluttony and Sloth, why are you just letting her go?” 

“There’s been enough death here,” Hohenheim said. “I see no reason for any more.”

“But you know what we did, right?” Greed nearly screamed. “We’re murderers, drug dealers, thieves and killers!” 

“Why?” 

Greed stopped. Stared. “What?”

“Why did you follow my brother?”

Greed scowled. “Father promised me satisfaction. He promised me money, power, he promised me my fill of secrets and excitement, and I got all that, but most of all he promised me that I’d stop wanting something so badly. I gave him years of my life, I did horrible things for him, just for that.”

“What did you want?”

Greed laughed, bitter. “Hell if I know. He said it’d stop.”

“Did it?”

Greed gave him a dull look. “No.”

“Well, I’m sorry.” The man did genuinely sound apologetic, and it pissed Greed off even more. Hohenheim looked around, and then started to leave.

“Wait! You can’t just go, you-“

“What? Are you going to fight me?” Hohenheim blinked. 

“I, but, what, you can’t-“ 

Hohenheim sighed. “I don't know you, nor do I understand why you did what you did. But you don't have to die here. Go, live."

Greed closed his eyes, and saw nightmares flash. “It’d be kinder of you to kill me.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got no reason to live,” Greed said. “And with what I’ve done, living is gonna be a helluva lot harder than dying.”

Hohenheim shrugged. “Maybe that’s what you deserve.” Greed jerked. "Regret isn't enough, but it'll have to do. Go, live. Find happiness. Make happiness. Life isn't a scale, isn't about atoning, not really. It'd be impossible to make up for what you've done if it was. But we're human. All we can do is survive and make our own meaning. You've taken life, and those lives are tied to your own now. You aren't one soul. You're every soul who's died because of you. Make that mean something." 

He was silent for a minute, and Hohenheim let him think. “What about Selim?” 

“What about him?” 

“He’s, he’s a kid! You can’t just leave him there!” Gier shook his head. “I’m an adult, I can figure shit out, but Selim - Selim’s a fuckin’ kid. A fucked up one, yeah, but still.” 

Hohenheim sighed. “And I suppose you want me to deal with it?”

The utter insanity of the situation settled on Gier’s shoulders. “You killed his dad, dude. Think you’re obligated.” He laughed a little, then suddenly he couldn’t stop.

Hohenheim looked fairly concerned, but waited for Gier to stop laughing to ask, “What will you do now?”

Gier looked at his hands, then shrugged and stretched. “God, I dunno. I’ve got plenty of money saved up, but I’d get bored doing nothing all day. I’m a pretty good bartender, maybe I’ll do that. Fuck knows.” He glanced one last time at Selim on the ground. The kid is starting to stir. “Lemme know what happens to Selim.”

Hohenheim followed Gier’s gaze, and said, “Very well.”

“One last thing - why me, and not, say, Gluttony? Or Sloth?” 

Van Hohenheim didn’t meet Gier’s eyes. “Why not?”

On that note, the man who Gier was suddenly sure was kind of an asshole picked up Selim and left. 

——

Gier looked at the building. A good foundation, if a little grungy and broken down. 

“Yeah, yeah, symbolism, and shit,” he grumbled aloud, and decided to buy it.

Three months later, the Devil’s Nest bar opened.


End file.
